


In the Eye of the Beholder

by lotrfan



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Cousins, Customs, Hunting trip, Implied Fingon | Findekáno/Maedhros | Maitimo, a preoccupation with hair, exiled Noldor, how to win friends and form alliances, jewelry obsessions, mentions of Findekano and Erestor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-16
Updated: 2018-07-16
Packaged: 2019-06-11 10:08:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15313206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lotrfan/pseuds/lotrfan
Summary: Finrod takes a trip north to visit his cousins, taking a notable piece of jewelry with him and imparting some interesting revelations regarding the customs of the Dwarves.





	In the Eye of the Beholder

**Author's Note:**

> Finrod (Ingoldo)  
> Maedhros (Nelyo)  
> Maglor (Kano)  
> Caranthir (Moryo)  
> References to Fingon (Findekano)

 

 

 

“It has been long since you visited us here in the north, cousin,” Maedhros said, as Finrod sat down across from him. “It is good to have you here. You come at the right time for a hunt.”

 

“It is good to be here,” Finrod said, settling into the cushions of the sofa across from Maedhros. “You have certainly improved the accommodations since my last stay.”

 

“That’s because these are Findekano’s usual quarters,” Maglor said, ignoring the irritated look his older brother gave him. “Nothing is too good for him, right, Nelyo?”

 

“I gathered that,” Finrod said, his eyes sparkling mischievously as he met Maglor’s eyes. “He has left some of his belongings in the drawers and wardrobes.” He raised an eyebrow at Maedhros.

 

“These are the warmest rooms in the keep,” Maedhros said smoothly, disregarding the innuendo but unable to do much about the flush that rose on his face. “You know I try to have our guests use them, since they are not as accustomed to the cold of Himring.”

 

Too accustomed to another kind of cold but it wouldn’t serve any purpose to mention that, Finrod thought. “Warm suits me,” he said amiably. He picked up his wine glass and inhaled the scent. “This is new,” Finrod said as he tilted his glass and gazed at the wine’s deep golden hue.

 

“Ice wine,” Maedhros said, nodding at his brother Caranthir, who was seated near him. “I thought we had lost our entire crop of grapes when the frost came too soon a few years back. But Moryo couldn’t let even frozen grapes go to waste.”

 

Caranthir rumbled into the conversation. “It would have been a waste. You know how much time we spent cultivating those vineyards. I just suggested we crush them into wine anyway and see what happened.” He leaned back, crossing his arms, a smug expression overtaking his usual serious face. “And this wine is what happened.”

 

Finrod took a sip. It was surprisingly rich and fragrant. He took another sip; if there was anything he couldn’t resist it was sweets. Well, sweets and jewels, he amended. One more taste. This was like dessert in a glass. “I’d say you succeeded beyond your expectations, Moryo. I might have to beg for a bottle or two to take home if you can spare it.”

 

“I would be happy to send you back with a case, if you wish it,” Maedhros said magnanimously. “There are few who appreciate it here—our scarce guests even less. Men and Dwarves far prefer the ale we brew.”

 

“I can attest to that preference,” Finrod agreed. “In the years the Dwarves were with us in Nargothrond it was all I could do to keep the ale production at a pace to content them.”

 

“How did that project of yours go?” Maedhros asked. “We have heard your halls rival Menegroth in beauty.”

 

“Not that we would ever be able to compare,” Caranthir muttered. “We certainly aren’t welcome in Doriath.”

 

“Their work far exceeded my expectations. But even artisan craftsmanship cannot substitute for hills and trees. That is why I should come visit you more often, here in the open wilds,” Finrod said. “For all their beauty living in caves can be so tedious.”

 

“Interesting that you mention caves,” Maedhros replied, nonchalantly leaning forward to poke the fire back into life. “I would be interested in a discussion—”

 

Finrod interrupted him. “Trust me, Nelyo. I assure you any discussion of caves would be quite dull.”

 

“You mean you want a discussion about your Dwarf friend do you not, Nelyo?” Maglor smirked. “The one who gives you such lovely gifts?”

 

Finrod leaned forward, intrigued now. “What Dwarf friend is this?”

 

“It is nothing,” Maedhros said, a faint flush staining his cheeks again. “I thought you could shed some light on Dwarven culture, seeing as they spent so much time with you in Nargothrond.” He unnecessarily poked the fire again, causing flares to rise up. “Moryo lives close to their settlements but we have had little opportunity to interact with them, thus far, save for a chance encounter with Azaghâl, the Lord of Belegost.”

 

“‘Little opportunity’?” Caranthir snorted. “A chance encounter where you saved his life on the Dwarf Road, you should say.”

 

“I have not heard this news,” Finrod said. “But it has been months since any Dwarves have come to Nargothrond. There are Orc bands our scouts have seen on the plains near the road.”

 

“It was an Orc band that attacked the Naugrim as they made their way to Belegost,” Maglor explained.

 

“ _Khazad_ ,” Maedhros interrupted. “They prefer to be referred to as _Khazad_.” He looked to Finrod for confirmation and received a nod in reply.

 

“ _Khazad_ ,” Caranthir repeated. “I must remember that.”

 

“It is a challenging language,” Finrod said. “I admit I have only learned but a little and that only by chance, from the craftsmen who came to dig my caves and the artisans who sculpted the stone.” He frowned at his cousins as he continued. “But mind you, I picked it up on my own, by watching and listening. They do not willingly teach others nor do they wish to converse in their own language with outsiders.”

 

“It would make things so much easier if we could learn their language,” Maglor said. “Few of them speak Sindarin well enough.”

 

Finrod laughed. “I doubt they will offer to teach you, Kano. They keep much to themselves. What I learned came from years of interaction, when they lived and worked with me.”

 

“That is why I need your counsel,” Maedhros said. “If we are to ally ourselves with the “ _Khazad_ , I would seek to understand them better.”

 

“You have been given a golden opportunity, Nelyo, if you saved the Lord of Belegost himself,” Finrod said.

 

Maedhros shifted in his seat and his brows lowered. “Perhaps. But I understand so little of their culture, Ingoldo. I do not want to inadvertently give offense.”

 

“How can you give offense if you saved his life?” Caranthir questioned. “It appears clear cut to me that you did him a great service.”

 

Maedhros colored slightly and his frown deepened.

 

“I sense a story you are not telling me, cousin,” Finrod leaned forward, eyes bright. “Come, you said you seek my counsel. What perplexes you?”

 

Maedhros leaned his head back on the cushions, closed his eyes and sighed. “Azaghâl gifted me a great helm. I’ve no idea what the right response should be.”

 

Finrod tilted his head in thought before he spoke. “Was it his own helm?”

 

“I assume so. It is a bloody big helm. Huge, heavy thing with a blasted dragon draped over the top of it,” Maedhros said. Maglor gave a helpless laugh at his brother’s words and received a solid kick to his ankle in response.

 

Finrod laughed. “Telchar’s work, I’m sure.”

 

“Yes, that was the name he said. Created by the greatest craftsman of Nogrod—those were his words,” Maedhros said.

 

“That would be Telchar,” Finrod agreed.

 

“It supposed to have some secret magical runes upon it, so Azaghâl said. To keep the wearer from all harm,” Maedhros added.

 

“That is a kingly gift,” Finrod said. “Why does it trouble you?”

 

“I do not know how to respond. Do I send a delegation bearing gifts back to him? Was my thanks to him on the road enough? I can’t wear the blasted thing—it’s too large for my head and I am too tall as it is on horseback.”

 

“I do not think he expects a response other than your thanks,” Finrod said. “You saved the life of the Lord of Belegost. He is their king. A kingly gift is how he shows the magnitude of his thanks. You need not send gifts in return.”

 

“Are you sure your head is not big enough to fill it?” Maglor teased.

 

Maedhros gave him a sidelong glare.

 

“We all know Nelyo is humbler than he should be,” Finrod said smoothly. “But I would say this provides you with an opening to talk of alliance with the Khazad.” Finrod tapped a finger on his lip as he thought. “Set up a visit to Belegost. And make sure to wear the helm, no matter how uncomfortable or awkward it makes you feel. I am sure Curvo can come up with a way to pad it to keep it from sliding around on your head. Wearing it acknowledges your respect for the gift and for the king.”

 

“And it will hide my hair,” Maedhros muttered.

 

“What?” Finrod questioned. “What is the matter with your hair?”

 

“They made much of the length. Or rather the lack of it, I suppose. I believe they thought I was a youngster when we encountered them on the road. It took much convincing to get them to understand I was truly Maedhros of Himring. I don’t know quite what they expected,” Maedhros said. He frowned and raised his prosthetic right hand. “This does give it away.”

 

“It is your short hair,” Finrod said. “They are used to Elves with long hair. They have had little opportunity to see our young, so few and well-protected as they are. You are the only one of our people with hair so short.” He smiled at his older cousin. “Their own youngsters grow their hair as they come of age. They must have assumed you were some youth on his first foray in the wild.”

 

Caranthir laughed. “Yet you are one of the oldest of us here--barring Uncle, some of his guard and a few of the healers.”

 

“I know that,” Maedhros snapped. “They were the ones that did not. It does not help our cause if they believe I am a young stripling.” He frowned again. “I do think their hair and braids mean far more to them than we realize.” His eyes met Finrod’s as he spoke and Maedhros was surprised to see the color rise in Finrod’s face. He leaned towards the younger Elf lord. “Seems you have a story too, Ingoldo.”

 

Finrod sipped his wine, his face still flushed. “I do,” he said at last. “The Khazad were quite fascinated with my golden hair. It seems it is not a hue that features in their people.” His color deepened as he continued. “It appears that braids do have meaning, as you said. My usual braid choice appeared to be announcing a message that I had not intended.”

 

“And what was that?” Caranthir asked, eyeing Finrod’s loose hair critically. “You have always favored your own weave.”

 

“Yes, well it appears that particular pattern is an announcement that I am looking for a mate,” Finrod said.

 

It took a few minutes for his cousins to control their mirth. “Do you want to hear more?” he asked, as Maedhros nodded his assent and Caranthir dabbed at his eyes, having laughed himself to tears. Maglor swallowed the retort he was about to make and simply nodded as well, eyes shining with merriment.

 

“A mate?” Maedhros finally said.

 

“A mate. Basically, announcing to one and all among the Khazad that I was ready, available and quite willing.”

 

They settled down a little quicker the second time.

 

“Who told you? How did you find out?” Maedhros choked out.

 

“It wasn’t until they had finished,” Finrod said. “I paid them for their work—in the gold they mined as they dug my halls and in gems I had brought from Aman. I had housed them, fed them, clothed them during the years they worked for me. I paid their price in full and far above it in the jewels and precious metals that I gave them.”

 

“You should watch your finances better,” Caranthir muttered. “You haggle the price down first, then give some gifts for a job well done. But not too much—it raises the expectations for the next time.”

 

Finrod ignored him. Trust Moryo to haggle about everything.

 

“So, when the time came for them to leave, they brought a gift for me,” Finrod said.

 

“What was it? Don’t tell me you have a bloody great helm as well,” Maedhros said.

 

Finrod shook his head. “No, no such thing. They made me a necklace, using some of the gold and jewels I had gifted them.”

 

“Why they are as bad about finances as you,” Caranthir grumbled. “Who gives back their bonus?” Maedhros swatted him into silence.

 

“And?” Maglor said. “Where is it? You must tell us what it looked like!”

 

Finrod put his empty wine glass down and studied his cousins for a moment before he rose.

 

He made his way to a cabinet at the far end of the room and opened it, pulling out a long, wide box.

 

Caranthir could not get a clear look at it, with Finrod in the way, but from what he could glimpse it was elaborately decorated with gold and silver filigree and bright enamel. Curvo would be wild to get his hands on that case, he thought. Even from his poor vantage point Caranthir could see the exquisite fretted golden overlay.

 

Finrod shifted to open the case, his robes obscuring what he lifted out of it. His hands clasped the object around his neck and then he turned to face them.

 

Forget the box. Curvo would kill to get his hands on that necklace, Caranthir thought, his eyes wide at the sight. But was it really a necklace? More of a choker. No, no. It was a collar. He was not quite sure what to call it but the overall effect was stunning. He could not take his eyes off Finrod or the . . . whatever it was around his neck.

 

“You brought that _with you_?” Maglor spluttered. “And they say _we_ are jewel obsessed.”

 

Maedhros had leaned forward, his eyes focused on the jeweled collar. “I’d say you got the better deal,” he finally said.

 

Finrod laughed as he moved closer to them. “My people would disagree,” he said. “The caves are far more useful to them than this.” He reached up to touch a slender fingertip to the necklace.

 

“No, I meant as far as Dwarven gifts,” Maedhros said. “This is superb craftsmanship.”

 

Finrod brought the wine decanter over and filled their glasses before seating himself again. “I would say a helm that keeps me safe from harm is far more useful than a glittery bauble, no matter how pretty it is.”

 

“Bauble?” Caranthir spluttered. “Pretty? Are you mad, Fin? That is a work of art clasped around your neck. Even . . .” He paused. “Even Father would have thought so.”

 

Finrod’s face was grave. “Do not take offense, Moryo, for I mean none when I say that truly your father would have appreciated the helm far more.”

 

They were all silent for a few moments as memories took them each back in time.

 

“You cannot think the Dragon Helm really has enchantment like that, can you?” Caranthir asked. “Even Father’s best work could not have guaranteed that.”

 

A thoughtful expression crossed Finrod’s face. “I do not know with certainty but I would not discount their claims out of hand. These are Aulë’s children and there is little Aulë cannot forge.” His fingertip reached up to touch the necklace again. “I have seen them, in the caverns. They hear the Song of the stone, just as we hear the Music in the waves of the sea, the running of the rivers, the wind in the trees.” He gave his cousins a brilliant smile. “Our songs can weave their own enchantment, can they not? Full of power and capable of casting glamours of our choosing. Perhaps their songs and runes can do the same. There is much we do not know of the _Khazad_. They believe it to be true—it may be unwise to doubt their words.”

 

“It is a kingly gift, of that there is no question,” Maedhros said. “But if they enchanted this necklace of yours to enhance the beauty of the wearer, their spell is all in vain for you, cousin. You are already far too handsome for your own good.”

 

Finrod’s face flushed even darker at his words.

 

“No, surely you don’t mean to say,” Maglor began, before huffing a laugh at Finrod’s expression. “Surely they did not think you needed help with your looks, did they?”

  
“It seems they found me sadly lacking in some particulars,” Finrod said faintly.

 

“‘In some particulars,’” Caranthir repeated slowly, frowning as he spoke. “There is not much I would find to criticize with you physically, reluctant as I am to admit it. Now as far as your personality . . .”

 

“Hush, Moryo,” Maedhros admonished. “Let Ingoldo tell us of the Dwarves’ accounting of his . . . inadequacies.” Maedhros kept his voice even but could not keep the amusement out of his expression.

 

“It seems I am the very essence of perfection but for one glaring exception,” Finrod said. “The _Khazad_ kindly told me it was likely the very reason I had been so unsuccessful in attracting a mate, despite the desperate pleas my braids were making for me.”

 

“Come on, Ingoldo. Spill! I am all anticipation now to hear of your critical flaw,” Caranthir said, a rare smile softening his angular features.

 

“It is one you share with me, so no need to be so smug, Moryo,” Finrod said. “It appears my lack of facial hair has rendered me unsuitable.” His face remained flushed as he spoke. “It puts my virility and ability to beget strong sons in question.”

 

He waited for their shouts of laughter to subside before continuing. “They created this,” he gestured to his necklace, “As a beard substitute, as it were. A dazzling one, to make the lack seem less.”

 

Maedhros narrowed his eyes, studying the collar intently. Now that Finrod had mentioned it the design was readily apparent to him.

 

The necklace had a high collar component that began just below Finrod’s very bare chin. The gold was of a hue that nearly matched Finrod’s shimmering golden hair.

 

But then the collar spread down across his chest in a V-shape; ropes of twisted gold, growing longer as they moved to the center of his chest, hanging down to reach almost to his belt at the centermost strand.

 

Glittering jewels hung at intervals along the golden strands, almost like, like. . . “Like beads!” Maedhros exclaimed. “Oh, I see it now. There were beads braided into their beards.”

 

“They have mimicked that in this collar of yours,” Maglor added, nodding. “Very clever, once you see what is represents.” He leaned back and put his hands behind his head, smirking at Finrod. “So, basically, it’s a prosthetic beard.”

 

“Basically,” Finrod said stiffly.

 

“I cannot see that it has gotten you any further along on the mating front,” Caranthir observed. “Although Curvo might put in an offer for you, just to get his hands on that thing,” he added.

 

“Valar forbid,” said Maedhros. “We would never get him back to forging weapons if he went off creating jewelry.”

 

Creating jewelry is what got us into this mess in the first place Maglor thought, wisely keeping his words to himself.

 

Surprisingly, Finrod for once had no such filter. “There is no question that on this shore our need for weapons far outweighs our need for jewels,” Finrod said, eyes widening as he realized what he had said and recalled what some particular jewels meant to his cousins.

 

Silence came over them again and Finrod unclasped the necklace, letting it pool in his lap. “It is a generous gift, given in good will. I wear it for my people and for our friendship with the _Khazad_.”

 

“May you wear it ever in joy and prosperity,” Maedhros said, his tone more formal. “Its beauty is unparalleled, Ingoldo, and in that it matches its owner well.”

 

Their conversation, more subdued, resumed once Finrod had put the Nauglamir away in the cabinet.

 

“You must tell me more of their elaborate braiding methods,” Maedhros said. “If their hair and beards have a language of their own it will not do for us to offend or irk them by happenstance.”

 

“I will tell you what little I know. Perhaps I cannot explain the intricate messages hidden there but I may give some insight on the reverence they have for it.” Finrod shot Maedhros an amused look. “You may need to rethink your hairstyle, Nelyo, if you expect them to treat you with the seriousness and respect you deserve. You look to them now as a child.”

 

“Looks like Erestor will have to add another duty to his list,” Caranthir added. “Official hair stylist to Himring’s Lord.”

 

Maedhros covered his face with his good hand and collapsed against the cushions. “I will never hear the end of that.”

 

“Maybe Findekano can lend you some of his gold ribbons. I am sure I saw one or two tucked away in here somewhere,” Finrod added with a laugh. “They might take you more seriously that way and I know Findekano would not begrudge them. Not if they were to adorn your radiant locks.”

 

It seemed even Nargothrond’s king was not immune to having cushions hurled in his direction by an irate cousin.

 

“Come now, Nelyo, settle down,” Caranthir said. “I likely have my work cut out for me negotiating with Nogrod and Belegost to exchange food supplies for weapons. I need any insight I can get from Ingoldo.”

 

“Just remember not to style your hair like his or you may find yourself with an unexpected bride, Moryo,” Maedhros said.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the June 2018 Teitho contest prompt "Customs" where it placed 3rd.


End file.
